


Racer and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Few Days

by bravest_person_in_Wonderland



Series: Something That Isn't Even a Love Story Is STILL a Better Love Story Than Twilight [1]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, Hurt Racetrack Higgins, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Jack Kelly Is A Good Big Brother, Physical Abuse, Pre-Canon, Protective Racetrack Higgins, The Refuge (Newsies), and he gets some goshdarnit, back at it again with Jack calling the newsies his kids, but now including my favorite girlsie, it's your typical racer at the refuge fic, race needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28889508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest_person_in_Wonderland/pseuds/bravest_person_in_Wonderland
Summary: Race Higgins is in the refuge. There are pros and cons. Pro: he might have made a friend. Con: he might actually die or something.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva & Racetrack Higgins, Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins & Smalls, Racetrack Higgins & Specs
Series: Something That Isn't Even a Love Story Is STILL a Better Love Story Than Twilight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130330
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was going for this being set about 1 1/2 - 2 years pre-strike? so Race would be like... 14-ish? I may be wrong but I think he's supposed to be 16 at the time of the strike. 
> 
> I'm banking on the assumption that all fansies are familiar with the tongue thing, bc I couldn't quite figure out how to describe it in writing XD
> 
> Warnings for **physical abuse** (I tagged violence along with "no archive warnings" just bc idk *how* graphic it is? I don't find it particularly graphic but idk what limits other people have, so yeah), **anxiety and anxiety attacks** (mostly portrayed through the use of really rapid-fire stream of consciousness writing), **emotional distress** , and all the typical refuge stuff... if you've made it to my small corner of the fanfic world then you're probably familiar with that, haha. Stay safe, y'all!

The refuge was quiet, and Race was alone.

The silence was unnatural, something borne of tension and fear and pain, a terrifying contrast to the warm chaos of the newsboys' lodging house. One of Snyder's men had explained it as he shoved Race into the room: misbehavior, which apparently meant anything other than utter docility, would be punished. He'd already been soaked by those guys, and most of these kids in here probably had been too. Even though Race was a mouthy kid by nature, he didn't fancy the idea of getting beat up more than he already was.

There was no talking, no interaction that he could see. Apparently Snyder punished that, too. So even though the sun hadn't completely set yet, the only sound was the disconcerting noise of rats, punctuated by the occasional cough or sniffle. Race was used to constant chatter, even after Jack called for bedtime, and lots of silly faces being made at people from across the room.

This was aloneness in a room full of people, and Race hated it. He hated feeling alone. It was stupid and weak and immature, but he nearly cried because oh, God, he wanted Jack. He even prayed a little bit, the way Jojo had told him about, because he didn't want to stay here. He needed to get out, to go home, to mess with Albert and get snapped at by Jack, who wouldn't actually mean it and would ruffle his hair, and to go to bed in the midst of good-natured heckling. He needed that, he couldn't stay here. He couldn't stay like this, trapped in a dirty room full of kids but still isolated, smothered by the fear of Snyder's heavy hand. He'd only been here for a couple hours but he couldn't stand it.

Jack had told him about the refuge, but he realized now that he had never really understood. There was no way to understand this but to live it. And living it wasn't living at all, it was surviving. It maybe explained some things, about Jack and the way he acted sometimes. Race didn’t know how many times Jack had been in the refuge, but he knew that he'd been there more than once.

He sat on the hard, dirty bed he'd been pushed into by Snyder's goons, his knees pulled up to his chest, and looked around the room, trying to find something or someone that would catch his attention enough to distract him. He was stuck in his own head, and his head was apparently a scary place.

A tiny form on a bed in the corner caught his eye. He couldn't be sure, but he thought it might be a girl. It wasn't like he hasn't seen girls before, and it wasn’t that it mattered. He wasn't looking at her like... that. It was just that this girl was dressed like a newsie, but he didn't recognize her. There was a couple of girl newsies nearby, in neighboring districts, but he didn't know of any in lower Manhattan.

The girl saw him looking at her and stuck her tongue out, but not in the teasing, taunting way. This was more of a smiling, mouth-open kind of thing, like a greeting without words. Race grinned, mimicking her. She smirked, then glanced around nervously before slowly slipping from her corner and tiptoeing toward Race. It looked like she'd been here a while, based on how smoothly she managed to walk, careful of what floorboards she stepped on, not making a noise. A few others glanced at her as she passed, either indifferent or frightened.

She made it to the bed Race was sitting on and sat down without and invitation, folding her legs up so they were crossed under her. Race blinked, a little confused, and waited for her to say something, but she didn't.

"Hi," he eventually whispered, so quietly he knew Snyder and his men wouldn't be able to hear, and wondering if the girl could even hear him.

She flicked her gaze, which had until then been wandering aimlessly, to him, and replied in the same barely-there whisper. "Hiya."

"I'm Racetrack," he said. "Y'can call me Race."

"Cool." She nodded. "Smalls." She stuck out a hand toward him, and he shook it.

Neither of them said any more, but suddenly in the stillness, Race didn't feel quite as alone.

* * *

He woke up with a start and instantly realized that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. There was no Jack, hollering and teasing and tickling to wake him and everybody else up. There was no Albert trying to steal his cigar. There was no cigar, and he really wished there was, if just for something to toy with between his fingers. There was just him and this teensy little alley-cat newsie girl on a nasty bed in the worst place on earth.

It took all of five seconds for him to realize all of that, that not only was he not home, he was in the farthest place he possibly could be from home. It took an extra half-second for him to realize that he had somehow ended up with his head resting on the tiny girl's – Smalls, she had said she was called, which made a lot of sense – shoulder, which was awkward on so many levels. Not the least of which was that he was way taller than her, so he was weirdly bent over to the side.

Smalls didn't bat an eye, however, as he sat up and rubbed his face with his hands. He winced when he touched the spot where one of the goons' fingernail had scratched his cheek the day before. He glanced around, noticing that the room was a lot emptier than it had been the night before. From what Jack had told him, most of the rest of the kids were probably being made to perform menial tasks at Snyder and his mens' bidding.

As if reading his thoughts, Smalls spoke. "New kids get their first day free, it's the Spider's idea of 'mercy.'" She looked over at him with a snort. "And I'm just lucky they ain't noticed me the way you did."

"Huh?" It seemed that during daytime, talking at slightly more normal volumes was safe. And he wasn't sure of the implications of her last statement, but he really hoped she didn't think he was _eyeing_ her or anything.

Smalls' mouth twitched into a sour frown. "This's my first time at the refuge, but I've heard stuff," she said. "'Parently, it can be a lot rougher when there's a girl for 'em to pick on."

Jack had told him that Snyder liked to pick on the little guys. It wasn't a shock to hear that he would take it out on girls because of the idea that they were weaker, or because of how little they were, but that didn't mean the thought didn't make Race a bit angry and a little fearful. Suddenly, he understood Jack on a level he never had before, because he knew that if he saw Snyder of any of his guys picking on Smalls – and oh gosh, she was really, really tiny, like smaller than Crutchie – he would probably throw self-preservation out the window and tackle them.

"Don't even start," Smalls muttered, rolling her eyes. Geez, _could_ she read his mind or something?

"Start what?" He retorted, raising an eyebrow.

She gave him a look that was half squinting, as if she was sizing him up. "Don't get protective," she answered. "In here it's every man for himself, got it?"

"Then why'd ya let me use ya like a pillow?" Race blurted, then laughed at the glare she sent his way, because he knew it wasn't a real glare. It was like the way Albert could frown daggers in someone, but behind it his eyes were smiling.

"You're new, and I'm not mean," she shrugged, just as footsteps could be heard nearby. She dove for a different bed and both she and Race pretended to be asleep still.

It took everything Race had in him to keep still, not slit an eye open to see who was drawing near, but he really didn't want any trouble. A tingling, stabbing sensation twisted between his ribs and he did his best to breathe evenly despite it. The footsteps pounded closer and he could tell that the person entered the room. The person scoffed derisively at seeing the very small handful of children still in the beds, and the footsteps sounded like they were leaving. But naturally, things couldn't turn out that simple. The steps halted and then seemed to turn and come closer again, and a sudden banging noise had Race bolting upright as if he'd been electrified.

One of Snyder's goons stood between two bunks holding a club, which apparently he had used to beat on one of the beds to make all that noise.

"Watcha doin', lazy-boneses?" He sneered, his eyes flicking evilly around the room. "Why ain't ya workin'?"

Race glanced quickly over at Smalls, who was wearing a deadpan, unimpressed expression. Maybe hiding fear again, but he didn't know. She had been here longer than he had, she knew how stuff worked. He was still trying to figure it out, which is why he stayed quiet. Normally, he would have been sassing the living daylights out of this guy, but as it was, he was trying to work out the best way of escape, and that currently meant not drawing attention to himself.

The goon walked up, reached out, and grabbed Smalls by the front of her shirt, pulling her from the bed and holding her at arm's length. Race shot to his feet out of instinct, that twisting tingling in his chest evolving into a buzzing in the back of his mind, and he wondered if this was how Jack felt all the time. The fabric of Smalls' shirt ripped a little bit because of the fact that, with the way the guy was holding her up, her feet barely touched the ground.

"I don' like the way you's lookin' a'me," the man growled, "Why don' y'just apologize, hmm?" His face twisted into a sadistic smile, as if begging her to defy him.

And she did. She spit in his face and made to kick at his shins – or maybe the other place, Race thought – but he shoved her, hard. Combined with the drop from being held so only the tips of her too-big boots were steadying her, the push sent her reeling back and sprawling on the floor, her head banging against the corner of a bunk.

Race reacted without thinking. He would have done it no matter who it was, but Smalls had made him feel less alone in this hellhole, so it mattered even more. His idea to draw no attention turned out to be useless as he quickly moved to stand in front of Smalls' tiny form. She wasn't knocked out, thank goodness, but she seemed dazed. The goon bared his teeth at Race.

"Outta my way," he said, "Lemme finish with the lil'un-"

Race had always been a fighter, that was how he'd met Jack. The older boy, though back then they'd both been much younger, had helped him out of a hopeless spat with the also much-younger but still just as mean Delanceys and taken him back to Manhattan lodging, and they'd been brothers ever since. So it was only natural that he swung at this guy, who was truly the scum of the earth. And these guys thought the newsies were worthless for being poor. At least they weren't cruel.

It was stupid. Race knew it was, but he was in this far anyway, so he went for it. It was too late to turn back now. The other guy was beefier and had way more experience beating people up, though. Race felt something crack when the guy's fist collided with his chest, and a burst of pain bloomed out from his right collarbone. He dropped like a rock, cursing his absolute lack of pain tolerance. He was essentially a street kid, he should be able to handle pain better than this.

He fell to his knees with a wheeze, his right arm limp at his side. He caught the shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye and tried to dodge despite the pain, tried to curl into a ball, anything, to miss being hit by goon-man's club. All he managed to do was shift so that the guy wouldn't catch Smalls on the swing, too. The blow fell and Race hoped Jack wouldn't be too sad when he never came home.

Everything went black.

* * *

Race was almost surprised even to wake up. His eyes didn't open right away, he just laid still, grateful to be breathing, no matter how much it hurt. _Everything_ hurt – his head, his arm, his entire torso, all pounding with pain. He hissed through clenched teeth, allowing himself that, but not a whimper. He was still alive, which meant there was nothing to cry over, except that there was. He didn't, though.

Gradually, he registered a presence nearby and the sound of grumbled words that he couldn't make out. He forced his eyes open to find himself on the same bed as earlier, with Smalls sitting on the bottom corner next to his legs. She was the source of the grumbling, of course, which was backed up by the way she glared at him when their eyes met. And this one was a _real_ glare, not one of the smiling-eyes ones like earlier.

"I told you," she muttered, sounding angry, "I can handle myself. Every man for himself, 'member?"

"Y'nearly got knocked out," Race refuted, annoyed at how weak his voice came out.

Smalls rolled her eyes. "And you _did_ get knocked out. For most'a the day," she added with a nod at the window. Race didn't dare risk turning his head to look, but he could tell that the sun was mostly set. How hard had the goon-man hit him to make him black out for that long?

"Snyder's men keep hittin' even if you're down," Smalls said, quiet but cutting. "Idiot," she muttered, looking away from him.

Race didn't reply, not keen on using the strength it took to talk. He'd never really realized that it actually took much strength, but apparently when you'd been soaked to within an inch of your life, things were different.

Smalls slipped off the bottom of the bed and moved to crouch near his head. "Friend o' yours came by earlier," she whispered.

At that Race tried to sit up, but Smalls set a hand on his not-broken shoulder and held him down – not like it took much effort at this point.

"Jack?" Race whispered back, desperately hoping that Jack was going to get him out of here.

Smalls shook her head. "Nah, he had glasses, said his name was Specs, which makes sense. Wanted to see if ya's really in here, I guess. I told him ya is and you's hurt and he got all frowny and said to be on the lookout."

"On the lookout f'what?"

"Dunno." Smalls shrugged. "Hope he didn't mean to be on the lookout tonight, coz I really wanna go to bed."

"You okay?" Race managed to ask, squinting up at her past one swollen eye. Her words had reminded him of how hard her head had smacked against the bunk earlier.

"Mmhmm. Got a bruise, but I'm fine." She glared at him again, as if condemning him for trying to help her, then without another word stood up and went to get in another bed.

Race drifted off again despite the pulsing pain in his body, maybe because of it, but at least now he had a fragment of hope to hold on to.

* * *

Specs didn't come back, and over the next two days Race only got more sore – whether just from stiffness or because of worsening untreated injuries, he didn’t know. Smalls tried to help in her own way, but she couldn't do much other than offer quiet companionship. At this point, though, that meant just about everything to Race.

He tried to keep a low profile, but it was hard to do the stupid stuff Snyder wanted when he couldn't even walk or breathe properly. It was inevitable that the evil man would eventually get fed up, even though it was basically his own fault that Race was hurt. He got a sharp glare from the man every time he winced or let out any sound that belied his pain, and a few times he got swatted on the back of the head, which only made it worse.

It was the middle of the day and Race was trying to help with "chores" – really just Snyder using all the kids as servants in any way he could – while still only having one functioning arm. Smalls was in a different room, and Snyder walked in followed by one of his goons, looking exceptionally angry. Snyder being angry was dangerous, because it meant he would take it out on one of the kids. This time, his gaze locked onto Race, who braced himself for whatever was coming now. He really wished Specs would come back.

Snyder grabbed his upper arm and yanked him by it. It was the right one, and the rough movement sent a shock of pain through Race's entire body so bad that his vision turned white and he fought to keep his knees from buckling. Snyder leaned in as if to say something, taunting and cruel as always, but his backup goon spoke before he could.

"Hey, boss, a coupl'a kids are tryna soak Gerber!" the guy called, and Snyder dropped Race, who fell to his knees, cradling his inured arm and pressing his eyes shut against the years that were forming.

"Then do something about it," Snyder growled, and followed the thug out front, maybe to help him beat up more helpless kids.

Race was still reeling from pain when a familiar voice herked him back to awareness.

"Racer, come on, ya idiot!" It was Albert, oh _God_ it was Albo in all his red-headed glory, kneeling in front of Race, his hands hovering near him but not touching, afraid of hurting him more. At Race's acknowledgement, he offered a hand and pulled him unsteadily to his feet.

Specs was there, too, and he bolted in for just long enough to holler for any of the kids who could to run for it, before dodging out the door again, apparently to keep Snyder and his men distracted.

"Wait," Race said, stopping short. "Smalls, she's upstairs I think-"

Albert only looked quizzical for a split second before he sprinted for the staircase, leaving Race leaning against the wall in the chaos of the jailbreak. Al wasn't as fast as Race could be when he was unhurt, but he was up the stairs and back down in under ten seconds, Smalls close behind him.

She and Albert supported Race between them, trying to get away as quickly as possible. They slipped away, Race staggering and doing his best not to slow them down too much, because he absolutely couldn't be recaptured, he couldn't go back there, couldn't let Smalls go back or Al get captured. He might not survive that. They made it to an alley about a block away where Albert brought them to a halt.

Race could barely stand at that point, exhaustion and injury and malnourishment and an adrenaline crash all piling up on top of him. His knees did buckle, now, and he pulled Albert down with him by a fistful of his shirt. It hurt to hug him, everything hurt, but he was free, he was safe, and his best friend was right here. Al tentatively put an arm around his back in return and let him catch his breath.

He didn't cry. He couldn't do that yet, not when he was still trying to believe this was real. What if it was just a dream, or something his mind had come up with to help him cope? Was there really any way of telling? He didn't want to consider that this might _not_ be real, but it seemed too easy. He tightened his grip on Albert's shirt, the texture of the fabric rubbing between his fingers, feeling real enough.

Pounding footsteps approached, and Race lifted his head from Al's shoulder to see Specs run up, wiping sweat from his forehead. He was grinning as he bent over to lean his hands on his knees and gasp a few breaths. When he straightened up, he briefly nodded at Smalls in greeting before looking toward Race and Albert.

"Heya, Racer, babe," he said. "Ya good?"

Race glared at him, one of the fake glares because he was _so_ grateful to be out of the refuge, but still. He was very obviously not alright in any way right now. Specs just smiled back at him, obviously knowing what was going through his mind. Maybe that was the point, and Specs was using Race's own deflecting tactics to make him feel safer.

"Ain't that kinda a dumb question?" Smalls asked, quirking one eyebrow. "I been tellin' him for days that he looks like crap."

Race snorted, just a little puff of air that sufficed as a laugh. "Thank ya for your valuable input," he shot back at her with a weak smirk.

She shrugged and crossed her arms, leaning against one of the buildings that formed the alley. Next to Specs, she looked even smaller than normal, and for some reason – maybe because he was deliriously happy or deliriously hurt, possibly both – that struck Race as funny. They stayed there for a minute longer, before Albert shifted a little bit.

"Think you can walk?" He asked, looking Race up and down.

Race hesitated, then he gritted his teeth and nodded. He just wanted to get _home,_ back to the lodging house and all the others, especially Jack. Yeah, Al was his best friend, but right now he really, really needed Jack. He needed the soft look in his big brother's hazel eyes, the one he always got when someone was upset over something. Once Jack had him, Race didn't know if he'd be able to keep it together any longer.

Also, he would really like a few pulls from a cigar right now. His mind and emotions were running wild and he wished he could stop the buzzing, like the weird brand of fear he had felt that first morning right before he got hurt.

Albert pulled him to his feet again, and this time it was Specs who helped to support him, careful of his injured shoulder. It took them a while to make it back to the lodging house, and by the time the building came into sight, Race was barely able to shuffle along. The adrenaline crash that had followed the jailbreak had left him more tired and sore than before, and every step sent more and more pain through his body.

Kloppman, as always when something like this happened, turned a blind eye to the fact that Race had clearly just been broken out of the refuge. Technically, the man was supposed to alert authorities, but he never had so far. He just frowned at the bruises covering Race's body and went back to his reading.

There were a few younger newsies waiting at the bottom of the staircase for them, and they all cheered before running up to the bunkroom ahead of the group. Race barely made it up the stairs, even with the help of both Specs and Albert. He almost thought that Al might have to carry him, but he was _so close,_ and all it took was a few more painstaking steps before-

His knees buckled again as he reached the stop of the steps and saw the bunkroom, and he was suddenly in Jack's arms and yeah, it hurt, and he couldn't lift his right arm so it was an awkwardly-positioned hug, but the pain didn't matter as much as the fact that Jack was here and holding him and stroking his hand through Race's hair and whispering comforts in his ear and Race couldn't help the quiet sob that slipped out of him. He buried his face in Jack's shoulder and finally let tears fall.

The lodging house was quiet, and Race was not alone.


	2. The Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of an epilogue, from Jack's perspective on having Race home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally hated writing Jack's POV but then I did it more and now I love it. He's such a sweet, loving, protective boy and he loves his kiddos so much. 
> 
> Not really any warnings this chapter, just aftermath of everything that happened previously. I hope y'all like this. :)

Jack caught Race in his arms the moment Al and Specs hauled him up the stairs. He'd wanted to go to the refuge and break his kid out himself, but Crutchie and Specs had convinced him that it wasn't worth the risk of Snyder capturing him again. It broke Jack's heart to hear Race's sniffling sobs and know exactly what he had gone through. He didn't hold him tightly, all too aware of the pain Race was already in, but he turned his head and pressed a kiss to his temple.

The rest of his kids spoke in hushed tones in the background, but Jack tuned them out. In that moment, Race was all that mattered. When he whispered a hoarse _I'm still scared,_ Jack clenched his teeth and murmured _I know,_ because he did. He knew better than anybody what Racer was feeling right now. He would have gladly held him forever, but he knew he couldn't.

He all but carried Race to his bed, and the entire roomful of newsies gathered round. Race dried his eyes as Jack tried his best to treat his injuries, worried that this might be bad enough they'd have to dip into the communal emergency fund to have a real doctor look at him. He was covered in bruises, with a particularly bad one showing just behind his ear, as if he'd been kicked or hit in the head. The worst was his right shoulder, though. The arm wasn't broken, but the collarbone was, and that made it all but useless. There might be nerve damage, and that was something Jack couldn't help.

Race regained his spirits enough to give the newsies an explanation of everything that had happened since he had been caught by Snyder's men over three days ago. It was a good sign that he was playing it off, making it sound less traumatic than it obviously had been. He even tossed in a few snarky comments and jokes.

Jack looked up when Race mentioned Smalls, the girl who had apparently followed him home, pausing in rubbing his fingers oh-so gently across Race's swollen collarbone. The girl was standing quietly in the nearest corner, next to Specs. She met his eyes and blinked, which he took as a greeting. He blinked back and gave her a slight nod, just as Race hissed in pain. He hadn't even been pressing down on his shoulder, just feeling for the break. Apparently he had found it.

Jack hoped it was just a fracture, something that could mend itself over time. He looked into Race's eyes and saw the pain and fear and brokenness in them that had resided in his own mind and heart for years. He wished he could beat the pulp out of Snyder for doing this to his kid, his Racer. But he just fashioned a makeshift sling out of a shirt somebody handed him and helped Race settle his arm in it.

* * *

He thanked God for how quickly Race fell asleep that night, and how deeply he seemed to be sleeping. The nightmares would come, there was no doubt. Jack knew they had came for him. He figured he'd sleep inside, and Crutchie agreed. There was no way he was letting Racer out of his sight, maybe for a long time. He wanted to be there, within arm's reach, if his kid needed him. 

The petite girl, Smalls, was still there, as if she was waiting for something. Specs had led her to a bed, told her she could at least stay the night. She was sitting there, looking around the room as the last of the newsies all wound down and finished up with their chatter. Jack stood up and walked over to her.

"I told 'im not to," she said, before Jack could even open his mouth. "Not to be protective of me."

"Yeah, well, Racer's never been one to listen very well," he replied, trying to inject a bit of mirth into his tone. He sighed. "From what he was sayin', you helped him out, too."

"If you's gonna thank me or somethin', don't. I'd'a done the same for anyone."

"That may be, but Race ain't just anyone." Jack watched as Smalls crossed her arms. "He's my kid," he said, and his voice may have cracked a bit. If it did, Smalls didn't give any sign of noticing. "My brotha'."

Smalls tilted her head, then nodded. Her cool, aloof demeanor seemed to fade, just a little bit. "Mind if I stay here?"

Jack shrugged. "That there's up to Kloppman, and he don't care, long as ya pay. You hawk papes?"

"I can pay," she said. "And yeah, I been sellin' Bronx district. Don't got a place t'stay over there, though."

"Well, then," Jack said with a smirk that was mostly forced, because it had been an extremely rough few days and it probably wasn't over yet, "Welcome to Manhattan, kid." He offered her a spit shake and she reciprocated, and that was that.

The lodging house was quiet, and Race was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are lovely, if you feel so inclined. :D thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I really looked at the idea of fem!Smalls and said 'this is A Cat' and I think that's very neat of me. 
> 
> also, I know I said I would write some fluff soon, but... the angst just calls me. like the ocean with Moana. I can't help it. but I do actually have a nice fluffy concept I've started working on, so I intend to finish that soon. :)


End file.
